This kid is going to grow up hearing “It’s inside out, ” “It’s still inside-out,” “Oh….now it’s backwards” more than any other sentences.
I’m sure he’ll grow out of it, right? I mean, nobody goes to their wedding with inside-out and backwards pants on. Um, right?
This is just an 8 year old (and 7,6,5…) thing, right? Say I’m right.
Say I’m wrong.
The day I realize that I haven’t said “it’s inside-out” to him in a while will be a sad day, I’m now thinking. There is no warning when we mamas have said our last or done our last of something, you know?
Like, when did I last hold him in a rocking chair? When did I last say “goochy goochy goo” while tickling under his chin? And when did I last put those baby toes in my mouth?
I didn’t know it was the last time, when it was the last time, or I’d have savored that moments to bits.
So, hey, Little Guy, never you mind.
Wear your clothes however you like. I’m savoring this phase to bits.